Almost one year ago, in the week leading up to Christmas, I met “the driftwood artist.”
I wonder if he is still there peddling his art on that part of coastal highway that runs through St. Petersburg, Florida.
And, I wonder if all of life, really, is about cobbling together something beautiful out of the broken pieces.
There is always pain, I suspect, in giving birth to anything of great beauty or value to us- be it a child, or a book, or a marriage.
Or a whole new world: Jesus on the cross. Jesus in a manger.
It’s a mystery by which I want my life to be encircled and held together.